Christmas Beau (Christmas Falls: Season 2)

Chapter 4

Chapter

Four

M id-morning on Sunday, Hank left Josh Gilmore in charge of his table at the holiday fair and went home to get his dogs.

On top of coaching hockey at the community center and being a husband and father and helping his brother organize a hockey camp for queer kids, Josh also co-ran his family’s pub, Frosty’s, with his brother. But since both Josh and his brother were busy men, they’d promoted one of their servers to junior manager last year, taking some of the responsibility of running the place off their shoulders.

Despite how busy he was, Josh had still offered to take over Hank’s table when Hank had to be at the community center during the week. And since Josh was the only person in Christmas Falls Hank sort of considered a friend after eighteen months in town, he’d begged Josh to watch his table for a couple of hours on the second day of the fair so he could take his dogs to the Santa Claws Pet Pics & Adoption event in Sugar Plum Park.

Meeting other dog parents was a surefire way of connecting with people. Hank had made many a friend with other pet owners when he’d lived in Toronto. He liked living in Christmas Falls—was intending to put down roots here—and if he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life here lonely as hell and living on the fringes of Christmas Falls society, he had to get out more.

He’d known that already, but it had become glaringly obvious yesterday when locals he’d recognized from around town had been surprised to learn that he lived here.

“Are you from Christmas Falls?” people at the fair would ask.

“No, but I moved here about a year and a half ago,” Hank would reply.

Cue the blank stares as shoppers tried to place him. In a town where perhaps everyone didn’t know everyone else but certainly recognized them or knew of them, it had become clear that Hank’s hermitting had gone on much too long.

Sugar Plum Park was utter chaos when Hank arrived with his dogs. The twenty-foot Christmas tree in the center of the park was unlit at this time of day. Food trucks sold everything from donuts to piping hot chili, and skaters did lazy circles around the ice rink, which was kept artificially frozen for the run of festival season. At the front of the line, a man dressed in an elf costume—Elias, the local animal shelter manager—ushered the next family up to take a photo with Santa. Volunteers sold calendars, the proceeds of which would benefit the shelter, and others handed out information about emergency pet fostering—the shelter had suffered some damage and they were trying to foster out all of the pets until it was repaired. Hank supplied his dog treats to the shelter, so he was friendly with Elias, and he would’ve taken one of the animals home if he didn’t already have three of his own.

If it wasn’t loud enough with dogs barking and yapping everywhere, a band played a cover of “Hey, Santa,” and screaming children chased each other around the tree. The best-behaved dogs sat quietly next to their owners, tongues lolling. The worst pulled on their leashes and barked at other dogs, people, and even their own tails.

Hank joined the back of the line for the pet pics, and because his dogs were well-behaved, they sat when he told them to. The man ahead of him was trying to put a headband of felt reindeer antlers onto his Shetland sheepdog, but the dog kept ducking out of the way. It wasn’t until the man stepped into his dog’s space again and grumbled an annoyed, “Fallon, will you just hold still for five seconds?” that Hank realized the man was Scott.

Hank’s heart jolted against his ribs.

Teddy, who’d been standing in front of Scott and thus hidden from Hank until Scott moved, spotted Hank and waved a mittened hand. “Hi, Hank.”

Scott whirled, tangling himself up in his dog’s leash. The dog scrambled out of Scott’s way, but in the process of doing so, somehow managed to bump into Scott’s legs.

Scott dropped the reindeer ears. His arms pinwheeled and his eyes went wide as his body weight went backward. “Whoa!”

Leaping forward, Hank grabbed a fistful of his coat and righted him before he could fall into the couple ahead of him.

“ Such a disaster,” Teddy whispered with no small amount of awe, seemingly to himself.

“Are you okay?” Hank asked.

“Talk about a comedy of errors,” Scott said with a laugh, stooping to pick up the reindeer ears. “This definitely isn’t how I imagined you getting your hands on me for the first time.”

Teddy’s jaw dropped.

Hank rolled his lips inward to hide a smile.

Scott went as red as the Santa suit the corgi in line ahead of him was wearing.

“Wow,” Scott said, passing a hand down his face. “And I thought the dog had no game.”

His dog was currently sniffing the butt of Hank’s shy Australian cattle dog. Kinsey looked up at Hank forlornly, his expression a clear, why are you letting this happen?

“The dog is Prince Charming by comparison,” Teddy said.

“Hey. Be nice,” Scott chided gently. “Yuri’s up ahead with his mom. Why don’t you go say hi?”

“But I don’t want to miss the next disaster.”

Obviously struggling not to laugh, Scott jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Beat it.”

“Fine.” Teddy’s sigh was long-suffering, but he picked up the backpack at his feet and went.

Hank had wondered about Scott this morning because he hadn’t been at the fair. Instead, a short older lady with white hair cut into a chin-length bob had looked over his quilts. Hank had noticed Scott greet her warmly yesterday, so Hank could only assume she was his mother.

His presence here explained his absence at the fair, and he looked adorably rumpled with his hair curling out the bottom of his ball cap and the laces of one of his boots halfway untied.

“Yuri is Teddy’s best friend,” Scott told Hank, even though Hank hadn’t asked. “They’ve been thick as thieves for years.” He shoved the reindeer ears in his pocket. “So... what brings you here?”

Amusement tickling the back of his throat, Hank looked down at his dogs. “Pet pics with Santa?”

“Right.” Scott’s laugh was self-deprecating. “Obviously. Us too. This is Fallon, by the way.”

Fallon had moved on to sniffing the Santa-suited corgi.

“This is Kinsey.” Hank nodded at his Australian cattle dog. “The French spaniel is Yager. And the other one is Rory.”

“Rory is...” Scott squinted at the dog. “Some kind of collie mix?”

“Border collie, basset hound, and poodle mix.” She was all black and had the physique of a basset hound—long body and short legs—but she was shaggy as hell.

“Did you name your dogs after NHL players?”

Hank held up a finger and specified, “ Queer NHL players.”

“I’m kind of jealous. All I’ve got is a Fallon.”

“What made you choose that name?” Hank asked as they moved forward in the line.

“I didn’t. She came that way from the shelter. Hey. Fallon. Leave Bruce alone. Sorry, Ines.”

“All good, Scott,” said the lady holding the corgi’s leash.

Fallon trotted back over and sat at Scott’s feet.

Scott looked back at Hank and his smile was very sheepish.

God. He was so adorably awkward. Hank couldn’t help the small step he took toward him. “Sorry I haven’t been by to pay for my quilt yet.”

“That’s okay. I saw how busy you were yesterday. Did you make a lot of sales?”

They moved forward again, getting closer to Santa and the photographer.

“More than I thought.” Hank gestured for Yager to sit when the spaniel got impatient. “I underestimated how popular homemade dog treats would be.” In fact, he’d probably have to whip up a new batch. The fair lasted for two and a half weeks, and although Hank was only a vendor for the first five days, if every day was as busy as the previous one, his current supply wouldn’t last.

“What made you start making dog treats?” Scott asked.

The line moved again, and Scott stayed back, almost on purpose. Like he wanted Hank to fall into step with him.

Hank refused to be charmed by that.

“It was when I got my first dog as an adult. Whiskey. He was a Labrador retriever.”

Scott’s lips quirked. “No queer NHL player name for the retriever?”

“This was before anyone had come out. Anyway, I was at the store looking for treats that weren’t filled with artificial ingredients. This was almost fifteen years ago, and at the time, there weren’t a lot. So I started making my own using human-grade ingredients. Each treat only has two ingredients, and in the case of the beef meatballs and chicken chewies, one of them is rosemary.”

“Well, Fallon loves them so much that I had to remind Teddy that he can’t give her the entire bag in one sitting. Let me know if you ever make a salmon treat. Fallon loves fish. Hey, Becca.” Scott greeted a woman being pulled along by a German shepherd.

“Hey, Scott. How’s the fair treating you?”

“Not bad.”

“Do you still have that quilt with the tiny cacti?” she called over her shoulder as her dog pulled her toward a nearby tree—probably so he could pee on it.

“Sure do. Want me to set it aside for you?”

“Please! I’ll pick it up this week.”

“You got it.”

Becca gave up trying to control the shepherd, her fast walk turning into a jog when the dog bypassed the tree and went for the one behind it.

Hank tried to picture Scott sitting at a sewing machine and couldn’t. “How did you get into quilting?”

Scott nodded in Teddy’s direction, where the kid was laughing with a boy who was as blond as he was, and his smile held nothing but love. “Teddy has sensitive skin. Has ever since he was born. Synthetic materials and products give him contact dermatitis—he breaks out in a rash. Even some natural fibers make him itchy. And don’t even get me started on diapers. When he was a few months old, my mom was gifted a throw made of Turkish cotton, and it was the first thing we swaddled him in that didn’t make him break out. But it was massive, so I cut it into smaller blankets. That way if he spit up on one, I’d have another one at the ready.”

“That’s one blanket,” Hank pointed out. “How did that turn into a business?”

“Side business,” Scott said absentmindedly, watching as Teddy stood aside while his friend and what was presumably the friend’s mom took their cat up to Santa for a picture. “That didn’t start until I’d passed the bar and started my first job. One of my law school friends was over and happened to see the blankets. She was pregnant and wanted something similar—a soft natural fabric. I gave her mine since Teddy was older by then and no longer using them, but it got me thinking that other people are probably looking for something soft for their babies too.” Scott shot him a smile. “Plus, sewing is soothing. As a single dad who was employed full-time, it was something to do at the end of the night that didn’t require a lot of thinking.”

Hank had so many questions, starting with the kind of law Scott practiced to why Scott was a single dad and if he always had been. Was there an ex in the picture? Was Teddy adopted? And had Scott said that he was employed full-time, implying that he wasn’t any longer? Did he work part-time now?

He didn’t get a chance to ask. Elias ushered Ines, her partner, and the corgi forward so they could take their photo with Santa, putting Scott and Fallon at the front of the line, and Teddy ran over with his friend, asking Scott for the reindeer ears so he could try putting them on Fallon again.

So Hank swallowed his questions and waited for his turn with Santa.

Scott stood aside and watched while Hank and his dogs took photos with Santa. Damn, he looked good. Even outside of the community center, he was put together. He wore that off-white double-breasted wool coat with the cowl neck Scott loved so much—though it was liberally dotted with dog hair—over jeans and black lace-up boots, and with the dark gray scarf and black leather gloves, he looked like he should grace the winter edition of a men’s fashion magazine.

Scott had given Teddy and Yuri a few dollars so they could get themselves a snack from one of the food trucks before they met some friends for an afternoon of ice skating, Anna had left to take her cat home, and Scott had another twenty minutes before he was due to relieve his mom at the fair.

Biting his lip, Scott bounced on his heels and waited for Hank to?—

Fallon lurched forward, nearly tearing Scott’s arm out of its socket. “Ow. Fallon. Sit .” Fallon did not sit. In fact, she pulled harder, trying to get to a dog of indeterminate breed nearby. “Fallon,” Scott whispered fiercely as Hank shook Santa’s hand and began to lead his incredibly well-behaved dogs toward Scott. “You’re going to make us look bad in front of the hunky hockey director and his NHL dogs.”

Fallon clearly didn’t care, and Scott was still trying to restrain twenty pounds of sheepdog when Hank approached.

“Don’t judge Fallon for her lack of manners,” Scott said. “She gets that from me.”

Hank chuckled, crinkling the skin at the corners of his eyes and making him appear infinitely hotter. He pulled a treat from seemingly nowhere and held it in front of Fallon’s nose. “Sit.”

Fallon’s butt hit the ground instantly. Hank gave her the treat and she munched on it happily, then licked her chops and looked up at Hank devotedly, ready and willing to work for more food.

“That’s a neat trick,” Scott muttered. “Got any more of those treats handy?”

“Sure.” Hank pulled a fabric pouch out of his coat pocket, loosened the pull tie, poured a few treats into his palm, and held them out to Scott. “I bring them everywhere. These guys—” He tipped his head at his dogs, calmly sitting at his feet. “—are well-trained, but they’re not perfect. A treat often distracts them from something they shouldn’t be doing.”

“This one—” Scott jerked a thumb at Fallon. “—is not well-trained, mostly because I didn’t have time to train her when she came to me. She pretty much does whatever she wants, and I pretty much let her.” He smiled brightly, curling the treats in his palm. “Anyway. Want to grab a coffee at one of the food carts? It’s cold, and I could use a hot drink.”

Hank glanced away, his gaze shuttering.

He’d decline. Scott knew it based on how Hank took a step back, his dog’s leashes clutched in one hand. Scott’s gut sank to his toes in disappointment, and he took his own step back, ready to tell Fallon they had to go when Hank said, “Sure. I don’t have much time to linger though. I’ve got to drop these guys off and get back to the fair.”

“Same, neighbor.” Scott winced, aware he was coming on a little too strongly, and told himself to dial it back. “Uh, how about this one?” He gestured at the nearest food truck.

Hank nodded. Scott waved at Elias—an old childhood friend—and fell into step with Hank. Fallon trotted between them, looking up at Hank as though he held the secrets to the universe.

It wasn’t unlike how Scott looked at Hank, which was both embarrassing and a little funny.

They stood side by side in line, the dogs sniffing each other, and Scott tried to think of something to say that wasn’t a wildly inappropriate Come home with me or an equally inappropriate You top, right? Tell me you top.

Scott was happy to top or bottom—his preference during any particular sexual encounter depended on the mood he was in—but he really wanted to be held down by this guy.

Mind out of the gutter!

Honestly. What was it about Hank that reduced him to a hormonal teenager?

The line went quickly enough that Scott hadn’t thought of a conversational topic by the time it was their turn to order. He ordered a large black coffee, Hank ordered a flat white—which somehow suited him, though Scott couldn’t explain why—and they had their coffees in hand a minute later.

“I’m this way,” Hank said, nodding in the direction of Dasher Street, as though he were on a single-minded quest to get his dogs home.

Or get away from Scott.

That thought was so awful that Scott quickly banished it from his mind.

“How about you?” Hank asked.

“Same.” Scott glanced around for Teddy. Somehow, even with dozens of people between them, he managed to catch his son’s eye. Teddy waved toward the ice rink. Scott nodded and waved goodbye, knowing Teddy would find his way home for dinner eventually.

“So,” Scott said as he and Hank crossed Christmas Boulevard—Christmas Falls’ name for what every other small town called Main Street. “You haven’t been in town long, have you?”

“About a year and a half.” Hank sipped his coffee as his dogs trotted nicely at his side. “Moved here from Toronto.”

“You’re Canadian?”

Hank shook his head. “Grew up in Buffalo, New York.”

“What took you to Toronto?”

“Hockey. I played for the city’s AHL team.”

Scott blinked and tried to place him. He followed hockey, both the minor and major leagues, but that didn’t mean he knew every player.

Okay, mostly he followed his favorite AHL team. He could name every player on the roster, but ask him to name a player from a different team, and he’d come up blank.

Hard to fathom that he’d ever overlook someone like Hank though.

He shrugged sheepishly. “I don’t really follow Toronto hockey.”

“Yes, your Vancouver Orcas hat gave you away,” Hank said with a teasing smirk that lit a fire in Scott’s bones.

Scott patted the brim of his ball cap. “You’ve got to admit, their head coach is sex on legs.”

Hank choked on his next sip of coffee, then dissolved into laughter that had Rory wuffing at him.

Scott would’ve wuffed at him in adoration too if he didn’t think Hank would speed walk away as politely as he could.

“What brought you to Christmas Falls?” Scott asked.

“I retired from hockey two seasons ago.” Hank paused when Kinsey broke formation to sniff at the base of a tree. Scott stopped next to him, Fallon sniffing at Hank’s heels. “The position of hockey director came up just as we were nearing the end of the season, and aside from my teammates, I didn’t have anything keeping me in Toronto.”

“You didn’t want to go back to Buffalo?”

As they started walking again, Hank shrugged. “I wouldn’t have been opposed, but there weren’t any job openings in hockey that I was interested in there. But there was here, so... here I am.”

“Here you are. And what do you think of our little town?”

“You guys sure know how to do Christmas.”

Scott snorted a laugh as they passed a house decorated with strings of garland along the porch roof and a trio of oversized round tree ornaments on the lawn. The next house had a family of inflatable snowmen on their lawn, and the next had a life-sized statue of Santa next to the porch that was frankly a little creepy.

“Did you attend any of the festival season events last year?” Scott asked. “I don’t remember seeing you.”

He would’ve remembered. And pined.

It would’ve been pathetic, yet very on-brand.

“Nah.” Hank twitched one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I was still finding my footing. I’d only arrived in town a few months earlier. The dogs were struggling to adjust to a new environment—Kinsey especially—my house needed some renos, and... Honestly, it was just easier to keep to myself after everything.”

Maybe he shouldn’t ask, but Scott did so anyway. “What was everything?”

“The end of the season, retirement, job interviews, packing up to move to a different country, figuring out housing, the divorce.”

Hank said it all so casually that Scott almost missed the last part. His heart ached with sympathy. Having handled more divorces than he could realistically count, Scott knew that sometimes they were amicable and other times they were not.

Since he held Fallon’s leash in one hand and his coffee in the other, he nudged Hank with his elbow instead of squeezing his arm like he wanted to. “Sorry about the divorce.”

Hank grunted, his cheeks pinking from the cold in a way that made Scott want to kiss them. “Twice married, twice divorced. I don’t think the relationship thing is for me. I think I’ll just love on my dogs from now on.”

Well, that... was incredibly sad. Scott could relate. He’d never been divorced, but he’d witnessed enough of them to question—like Hank—whether a romantic relationship was in the cards for him.

But hearing it from someone else only drove home how lonely the concept was.

“Anyway, enough about me,” Hank said, throwing a smile Scott’s way. “Tell me about you. What do you do? You mentioned law school earlier.”

“I’m a family lawyer, but at my old law firm, I handled most of the divorce cases.”

A loaded silence settled between them, and Hank stared at him as though waiting for the punchline.

“Not even kidding,” Scott added with a grin.

Hank let out a laugh. “So you’re just as jaded as I am?”

“More so, probably. I’m between jobs right now though, so we’ll see where life takes me next. I’m down this way, by the way.” He gestured to the left when they came to a stop sign.

“I’m a little farther up,” Hank said. “I’ll see you at the fair in a bit?”

“Yup. See you.”

Hank held up his coffee in a toast as he continued straight on Dasher. “Thanks for the coffee. And the conversation.”

“My pleasure,” Scott murmured, unable to help the flirtatiousness that entered his tone.

Hank chuckled and kept walking, his dogs trotting along beside him.

If Scott stood at the intersection for a minute longer, watching longingly after Hank, no one was there to witness it except Fallon.